


I’m a long way from home

by notoska



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-21
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2018-01-26 00:32:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1668191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notoska/pseuds/notoska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winter Soldier ducks into a bar with neon buzzing in the windows. Steve leans against the wall. He will wait. Tired and bitter and frustrated. Patience worries itself down to a single thread. Steve looks up. He is numb. Too much waiting. </p><p>Fuck it; snap the thread. Tonight, he will try something new.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’m a long way from home

You chase for so long it feels strange to be still. At least you have a purpose again.

Every day he runs and you follow. Sometimes you talk to him. Sometimes you give him little pieces of his past. And sometimes you hurl your shield at an unseen threat, he spins in surprise, and you face down his threatening eyes.

He never remembers you.

 

* * *

 

It has been over a year and the world has renewed itself. Green blooming from deadened brown. Steve has tried everything he think of. He asked for help and shunned it. He pleaded and demanded. But apparently there is no remaking a broken man.

Steve’s heart has stilled and buried itself. Under ice again. His body pushes forward but exhaustion shackles him. Steve’s true strength is that he is too stubborn. Too stupid to turn back.

A year is a very long time to run. Every day the Winter Soldier wakes up and remembers nothing. He runs, as he has been programmed to do. He believes they will come for him.

But Steve knows they are not coming. And he cannot seem to find Bucky in all that mess to bring him home again. Grasp his hand and pull him out of his own depths.

He knows Bucky is in there. Because the Winter Soldier would have let him drown.

 

* * *

 

The sun sets and the world fades to grey and streetlights. The Winter Soldier makes his way deep into neighborhoods too poor for light. Steve follows, slinking through the shadows two blocks behind. Bucky knows he is being followed because he always knows.

The Winter Soldier ducks into a bar with neon buzzing in the windows. Steve leans against the wall. He will wait. Tired and bitter and frustrated. Patience worries itself down to a single thread. Steve looks up. He is numb. Too much waiting. 

Fuck it; snap the thread. Tonight, he will try something new.

 

* * *

 

Bucky is sitting at the far end of the mostly full bar. People chatter in a language that Bucky knows and Steve is trying to learn. Steve takes a seat where the bar curves around itself. He meets Bucky’s eyes as he sits down. Bucky stares back, eyes blank as usual, and Steve holds his gaze as long as he can. He feels a flush bloom up his neck. He’s in it now, no idea what to do. Just like every fight he’s ever picked. Heart pounding in his chest, swinging and hoping for the best.

But this battle won’t be won with force, and Steve never was good at charming. He blinks down at his hands, swallows, and forces his eyes up again.

The Winter Soldier watches him from the shadows. He sits still and doesn’t look away. The bartender mumbles something to Bucky and Bucky replies. Steve watches his lips move.

Wanting is the easy part.

The bartender brings Steve a drink. A melodic sentence of meaningless sounds, which must be an explanation, as he sets it down. Steve just nods, confidently, hoping that will suffice. Doesn’t need everyone to know just how out of place he is here.

He looks up at Bucky again. He’s got three days of beard and two days of sleep. Steve knows because he only sleeps when Bucky does. Steve holds his eyes, blush curling around to his ears. The bar hums and Steve leaves the drink untouched. A long moment and Bucky raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth crooking up.

Steve remembers the first time Bucky smiled after the crash. It was Paris and autumn sunshine and peace. He laid down on the grass like he had nothing to be afraid of, and Steve cried silently, crouched behind a tree, hope and agony.

Steve offers a small smile in return. There is nothing in his mind but grey smoke. Too tired to think, hoping this clumsy, desperate dance will get him a bit closer. Bucky looks away and scans the bar. Steve knows who he is looking for, men with guns tucked into their waistbands, watching him from the corner of their eyes.

When his eyes return to Steve, they speak an obvious question. Steve remembers how Bucky used to pick up women at the dance hall, whisking them into his arms before they could think too much. He stands and circles the bar. Steps confident but his heart knocks in his ribs. Bucky’s eyes track him; they are guarded and dark.

Steve reaches his side and takes the seat next to him. A long pause and Bucky murmurs something in this country’s tongue.

Steve weighs his options, say nothing or say—“Nice to meet you.” Steve cringes inwardly as soon as the words leave his tongue. _Shit._ Bucky’s eyes snap to something much sharper. He stiffens and his hand disappears inside his coat. _What is an American doing here? In this godforsaken place, speaking English and making eyes at him?_ Steve knows the whole thing screams like a trap. He fights to keep his face neutral, as his mind claws for some assurance to offer. He tries the first thing he thinks of.

Settles a light hand on Bucky’s knee and says, “I’m a long way from home”— _What is that supposed to mean?_ He hopes his eyes look hungry instead of panicked. He was always better at hiding the hunger than showing it.

Bucky stares at him, suspicion and a touch of confusion.

The Winter Soldier stands, Steve’s hand slipping off his knee, and walks toward the back of the bar. Moving on instinct, Steve follows. He rounds the corner, into a narrow hallway that leads to the alley exit. Bucky’s almost at the door. A tug of dread in his stomach tells him Bucky isn’t leading him to the alley for a kiss, not with his hand still inside his coat. So he moves first.

Grab his wrist and when he spins, angry and quick, slam him to the wall. The building shakes with the impossible strength of your bodies. Press your lips to his. The world stops. You kiss a man that does not know you. He does not know how deeply you love him and maybe he will never know.

You are a coward for waiting this long. You used to be too selfless to want, but now you are broken and want is all you know. You are no more a man than he is and tonight you will take. Because you are selfish and impatient. Because you are out of options and out of time.

Two breaths and you’re both still. Lust swims up and whispers in your ear. You’re inexperienced with this, moving one body against another, speaking with touches and pressure, but you’re done thinking. Just do. Push his hands above his head, pin his wrists to the wall, one skin and one metal. Press your body to his, your hips against his. You don’t have to summon the moan from your chest, it comes like second nature.

Steve pulls back just enough to see Bucky’s eyes. Still dark and threatening but he doesn’t fight back. So close you can feel his breath on your lips. Draw his bottom lip into your mouth, suck gently, and watch his eyes roll back, drift closed. Feeling Bucky melt into his touch makes Steve’s head spin— _Has he always wanted it? Wanted me?_

Suddenly, he surges and you are against the opposite wall. Your hands pinned by his. Bucky nips at Steve’s jaw, kisses wet at the stubble on his neck. His pressure will bruise your skin. Steve’s knees threaten to buckle and he gasps into Bucky’s hair.

“Let me take you back to my hotel,” Steve’s voice comes out hoarse. Bucky pulls back, hair in his eyes, and laughs darkly. 

“I’ll keep your secrets,” Steve says, lust-wrecked voice making it a whisper, face saying what words cannot. Bucky looks up, shadowed and hungry and worried. He blinks and exhales. He nods.

 

* * *

 

They stumble into the room, hands grabbing and pulling, mouths searching for skin. First hotel room Steve has bothered with in months. He’d rather sleep in the fields where Bucky sleeps. Steve can’t stop touching him, floating through this surreal dream. _Would it always have been this easy?_

Steve’s hands slide over Bucky’s body. His fingers glide over guns and sheathed knives, searching for skin under fabric.

“You’ve got a lot of guns,” Steve mutters into his mouth, stupidly. Apparently the Winter Soldier had a sense of humor because he laughs, chest shaking. Bucky kisses a line down Steve’s neck while his hands nimbly pull guns from holsters, knives from their sheaths, and drop them on the aging carpet. He keeps a thin blade in hand, pushes back on Steve’s chest, and raises it between them.

“Get undressed,” he growls, desire dark in his eyes. Steve backs up, two steps to the bed. He does as he is told because he would do anything to keep Bucky here. Shucks his shoes, shrugs off his coat. He pulls his shirt over his head, mussing his hair. Unbuttons his pants and lets them fall. Pulls at his underwear with a hint of self-consciousness. Eyes down as he steps out of it, cock heavy and hard, lifting off his thighs. He keeps his dog tags on. Wonders, when Bucky gets close enough, if he will recognize the name stamped in metal as his own. James Buchanan Barnes.

Bucky’s face softens, lidded eyes. His arm falls to his side. He drinks in the sight of Steve and drops the knife. He stalks forward, pushes Steve to the bed and follows him down. He’s got a wool sweater, rolled to the elbows, over his bare chest. Canvas pants that sit low on his hips, and scuffed black boots.

Steve remembers the day Bucky found this sweater. How his heart ached when Bucky shed his old shirt, standing topless in the street, and tugged this too big thing on in its place. 

Bucky pins him to bed, metal hand on his shoulder, and Steve runs a hand under the wool hem. Skin on skin. Bucky shivers and rests his forehead on Steve’s. They’d been this close many times in the past twelve months, but struggling and grimacing, not soft groans and caresses. In some ways, it feels the same.

Bucky lets Steve pull the wool over his head, push him gently on his side, and roll him onto his back. Steve unbuttons his pants and pushes all the fabric down past his thighs.

Bucky gasps softly. More exposed than he’s been in months. Vulnerable like he’d never allowed before now. _And only for a stranger_ , Steve thinks numbly, _not for me._

Steve stops worrying about keeping him and starts taking him in. Hungry fingers dig into Bucky’s ribs. He draws a line with his tongue, around his navel, down and down, nuzzling into wiry hair, breathing hot over sensitive skin. He responds to Bucky’s absent little sounds, the way his breathing hitches, his muscles tense and relax.

Bucky hooks a hand under Steve’s chin and pulls him up. Eyes blown to black and parted lips. He pulls Steve’s mouth to his. Fraught kisses, searching out Steve’s tongue with his own. A mess of want and heat. 

Bucky pushes him away, panting softly, hand resting hot on Steve’s flushed collarbone.

“What’dya like?” he murmurs.

Hopelessly inexperienced, Steve has no idea what to say. What to ask for. He pants back at him and mumbles into a kiss, “Whatever you want.”

Bucky’s chest dips in a chuckle. Steve’s wounded heart bleeds blind joy and knowing misery. Being the stranger that Bucky randomly decides to trust is worse than being the forever spurned friend. Because this is just tonight and tomorrow they start over. Bucky a clean slate and Steve a broken man with soft sounds echoing in his mind, soft touches burned into his skin. 

Two hands, one on each of Steve’s shoulders. Bucky pushes him to the side. He pulls Steve up so he’s sitting, leaning back on his elbows, shoulders against the headboard. He spreads Steve’s legs, bent at the knee, and crawls between them. Bucky kicks off his pants and boots and leans in, tops of his thighs pressing against the back of Steve’s, arms on either side of his ribs, and kisses him. Pressing him hard against the scratched wood bed frame. 

He pushes Steve’s head with his own, nuzzling into his neck, catching Steve’s earlobe between his teeth. Bucky takes his time. Kissing Steve’s chest, gentle strokes up and down his arms, fingertips following lean lines. He pauses to breathe the scent from Steve’s skin. His hand drifts down, thumb tracing Steve’s hip bone, before settling on his cock.

He strokes it slowly and Steve moans, arching away from the bed. Drowning in pleasure and blackest sadness. _You don’t ever have to remember who you were, if we can do this every night. As close as we should have been._ Bucky kisses the tender skin of his thighs, tracing creases with his tongue. 

Steve forgets to breathe when Bucky takes his cock in his mouth. He watches his head rise and fall, Bucky’s thick hair falling loose on his thighs, until he has to bite his lip and look away. Deep breaths to swim in ecstasy a bit longer. _He is too tender._ Deep breaths, don’t cry.

Bucky moves expertly, tongue sliding along the bottom of his cock, licking and sucking at the head. When Steve looks down again Bucky is watching him through his lashes, eyes glazed, mouth wet.

You should know by now, that everything you want will follow you. All you have to do is give up. Let go. Fall too far, sink under it all. And when you are thoroughly broken, he will come for you, and drag you to shore.

Steve’s stomach spasms and he shudders into orgasm. His legs shake and Bucky strokes him through waves of pleasure, one hand on his hip, one on his chest, to feel Steve’s heart race. Steve cries out, much too loud for a hotel with such thin walls.

As he settles again, breathing ragged, vision swimming back, Bucky rests his head on his heaving stomach. They lay naked and still and silent. 

Steve reaches down and pulls the Winter Soldier up, hands under his arms. Bucky lets him, no resistance. Steve rolls him into a warm cocoon. Arms around his waist, Bucky’s back pressed to Steve’s chest. He pulls his legs up under Bucky’s, touching everywhere they possibly can.

Steve holds him close and sleep settles like a blanket.

“You’ve been following me for a while,” he whispers.

Steve’s heart leaps in his chest and he wills himself not to flinch, “Yeah.” _He remembers?_

“Goddamn—” Bucky pauses, considers, “persistent.”

Steve laughs. Bitter and hopeful, “yeah.” 

He waits a moment before adding, “You don’t have to run, you know.”

Bucky hums in response. A sound that means nothing.

Steve listens to him breathe. _But you can. If you need to. I won’t stop chasing you._ Steve inhales the achingly familiar scent of his shoulder. _Just let me hold you once in a while._

 

* * *

 

When he wakes up, full and content and warm, Bucky is gone and Steve is not surprised. He searches the room but there is nothing. No forgotten knife or scribbled note. Steve wonders what he thought when he woke up this morning. If he looked over at Steve or left without turning back. How he felt when he slipped out of Steve’s arms.

Steve makes the bed and cracks the window. He tugs on wrinkled clothes and uses a dog-eared guidebook to ask for another night at the front desk.

He walks out onto the street. Head down as he heads out. Familiar routine. Find Bucky and follow him. For as long as it takes.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If you're in the mood for a Steve/Bucky love story, I'm writing one over here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/1577855
> 
> Come chat with me on Tumblr! notoska.tumblr.com ^_^


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